hope

Liturgically speaking, Holy Saturday is the quietest day of the year – the time between Jesus’ death, and his resurrection which takes place at the Easter Vigil, technically Easter Sunday. Holy Saturday has always seemed to be such a quiet day in the midst of a very busy week – especially when I try to put myself into the shoes of the apostles, who would have distinctly felt the emptiness and loneliness of Jesus’ death most profoundly. The following is the text of an ancient homily from Holy Saturday as found in the Liturgy of the Hours – and is one of the most beautiful explanations I’ve found for the silence of this day:

What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps; the earth was in terror and was still, because God slept in the flesh and raised up those who were sleeping from the ages. God has died in the flesh, and the underworld has trembled.

You may not know that one of the promises clergy & religious make upon entering their vocation is to pray the Liturgy of the Hours (AKA Divine office.) This is a routine of prayers that they pray at various times throughout the day to make sure that they don’t lose sight of their relationship with God within their service to His Church. One of the hours they pray is called the Office of Readings, which includes both a selection from the Bible and something from one of the saints. The following is the reading for Good Friday, taken from the Catecheses by St. John Chrysostom, one of the early Church fathers. I moved it back to the front of the blog in honor of what we celebrate today, because Chrysostom says it all so much better than I ever could. If you’re looking for the readings for the day, click here to get them from the USCCB website.

If we wish to understand the power of Christ’s blood, we should go back to the ancient account of its prefiguration in Egypt. Sacrifice a lamb without blemish, commanded Moses, and sprinkle its blood on your doors. If we were to ask him what he meant, and how the blood of an irrational beast could possibly save men endowed with reason, his answer would be that the saving power lies not in the blood itself but in the fact that it is a sign of the Lord’s blood. In those days, when the destroying angel saw the blood on the doors he did not dare to enter, so much less will the devil approach now when he sees, no tthat figurative blood on the doors, but the true blood on the lips of believers, the doors of the temple of Christ.[Read more…] about Good Friday Reflection: The Power of Christ’s Blood (St. John Chrysostom)

A year ago today, on January 14th, 2018, I said farewell to my father as he died due to complications related to cancer. It was one of the hardest days I’ve ever lived – I wrote the following a couple of days later to try and put into words what my dad means to me.

In my day-to-day life I play many roles. I’m a Chaplain, musician, wannabe writer, geek, husband, and a father of five. This last role – father – is probably the most intimidating one of all of them, as I’ve been entrusted with the incredible responsibility of teaching and shaping these five little lives to become both responsible citizens and (hopefully someday) saints.

That last role – being a father – and much more seem harder this week as the man who first taught me what that word means, Robert J. Landry, died on Sunday afternoon.

I’ve been trying to put words to the way I’ve been feeling since , and I’ve found three. I feel gratitude, I feel loss, and I feel hope.

I feel gratitude because these days have given me pause to consider just how much of who I am I owe to him. When I consider some of my great loves – playing music, the Edmonton Oilers, my love for sci-fi (Star Wars/Star Trek) – a lot of these go back to Dad. For most of my life I’ve watched Dad with his guitar. I can remember him playing on our living room couch with hockey on in the background and the TV on mute. I spent 10 years in various Scouts Canada groups, and for 9 of those Dad was one of our group leaders who always came to camp with his 12 string in hand and led us in singing goofy campfire songs and reflective songs during “Scouts Own” sessions on Sunday mornings. And most of all, I remember spending New Year Eve at Dad’s side many times at his cousin’s house in Beaumont where Dad’s guitar would be joined by a banjo, an accordion, and often even a stand up bass for hours of east coast favorites. I think those evenings are the closest experience I’ve ever had to a proper Nova Scotia kitchen party. It was these evenings that first inspired me to take guitar lessons – dad went to a pawn shop & picked up an old guitar, then turned the strings around so I’d have something to learn on.

Through work, Dad used to get tickets to Oilers games through the 1980’s. You may recall that the 1980’s were a pretty good time to be an Oilers fan (and I didn’t understand then just how lucky we were to see the Oilers as a Stanley Cup contender every year!) Every time we went to a game, he’d buy me a souvenir hockey puck -the collection of which I still keep on display in my office at St. Peter the Apostle CHS. While this love for the Oilers has not been nearly as rewarding over the last dozen years, I was able to take Dad to a few hockey games the last few years. We both set foot in Northlands Coliseum (Rexall Place) one last time a couple winters ago to watch the Oilers lose. He was with me and a few of my kids last March in Edmonton’s shiny new arena for an Oil Kings comeback/overtime win. But my favorite hockey more recent memory with him would probably be our trip to the World’s Longest Hockey game a couple of winters ago, when he, my oldest son, and I, got to go and contribute to that incredible cause.

And yes, all of you who have to put up with my overall geekery (and my fabulous Star Wars puns): I owe at least some of that to Dad as well, as I started watching Star Trek with him in the mid-80’s.

Overall, I’m grateful that for 37 1/2 years, Bob Landry was my dad. No, he wasn’t perfect (but neither am I). Some of the lessons we learned in our weakness and through tough times may be some of those I am most grateful for.

That I feel loss is probably pretty obvious. My dad is gone. I won’t be able to call or text my dad with a question when I start filling out my taxes, and countless other small moments I’ve come to take for granted. I know, like any wound, this will heal and the ache won’t quite be the same tomorrow as it was today… but there’s no shortcut through it. And I find it doubly hard because I’m also getting to see this through the eyes of my kids for whom Pepe is the second beloved grandfather they’ve lost in a year.

I also feel hope. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that hope is a regular theme I’ve tried to write about (particularly when discussing death.) In a nutshell, it’s one of the hallmarks of Christianity: in spite of the fact that sin and suffering exist in our world – and death seems to bring those of us left behind a great deal of suffering – none of these get the last word. Our belief in the resurrection, in a life after death is something that brings with it hope. I think that once the shock of what’s happened this week has worn off a bit, that hope will take up a more prominent place in my heart. My dad experienced a lot of suffering throughout his life, from the loss of his mother at the age of 15 to the cancer he was fighting up until the moment of his death. It is my hope and my prayer that he’s now able to experience the reward that comes from that suffering.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

The following is an article I wrote for Grandin Media looking back on the recent deaths of my father-in-law and my own dad, what it was like to go through their things, and the legacies we leave behind:

The last year and a half has been among the more difficult my family has ever experienced.

In April 2017, my father-in-law passed away, and this past January my dad died as well. In both cases, part of my responsibilities to these men had me cleaning out some of their spaces – my father-in-law’s work bench and by dad’s office – going through what they had left behind.

When we were visiting my mother-in-law last July, she gestured towards the garage and told me I was welcome to anything I thought I could use or need. As I began to go through the various shelves and drawers, I unearthed some treasures from his life. I came across part of the cattle brand he’d used on his farm for more than 30 years. I found some of the tools that had belonged to his father – 60 years ago, he had been the local mechanic in Shuler, Alberta, northeast of Medicine Hat. I found buckets of screws and parts that only he would have been able to correctly identify. And I found a 50-year-old notebook that none of his family had ever seen before, but which documented some of the work he’d done on another farm in the late 196s.

I have to admit, as I sorted through these things – packing some up for myself, some for my brothers-in-law, and some to be given away; I felt a little like I was trespassing.

Many of you may have seen or heard about the suspected terror attack in Edmonton last night which sent five to hospital – including a member of the Edmonton Police Service.

There are many reminders that will be repeated over the next few days as we process these happenings in our own community including the fact that we are so, so fortunate to have such courageous and professional men and women serving in the EPS & RCMP, looking out for our good each day. We’ll also be reminded that the actions of an individual or group do not reflect on the beliefs of an entire religion or culture.

Equally important to those reminders are reminders particular to our faith: that in face of such senseless violence (and ultimately in the face of all suffering) we have recourse both to hope and to prayer.

When it comes to hope, I’ll lean on the words of a spiritual giant. On September 12, 2001, St. John Paul II set aside his usual Wednesday catechesis to address the 9/11 attacks on the USA. A few lines from that talk seem particularly appropriate today:

“How is it possible to commit acts of such savage cruelty? The human heart has depths from which schemes of unheard-of ferocity sometimes emerge, capable of destroying in a moment the normal daily life of a people. But faith comes to our aid at these times when words seem to fail. Christ’s word is the only one that can give a response to the questions which trouble our spirit. Even if the forces of darkness appear to prevail, those who believe in God know that evil and death do not have the final say. Christian hope is based on this truth; at this time our prayerful trust draws strength from it.”

Additionally, we are called – in imitation of Christ Himself – to respond to hatred and terror with prayer. From the Cross Jesus prayed for his accusers & executioners: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). With that in mind, I offer the following as a prayer you might use to pray for Edmonton (adapted from http://www.christiananswers.net/pray.html):

God of faithfulness,

As we come to you to pray for the victims of the recent attack on our community, we ask for your help for ourselves and for others:

We ask for your grace to center our minds and settle our hearts.

We ask for your hope to sustain our passion for justice and our will to be peacemakers.

We ask for your wisdom to help us recognize your presence dwelling within us and within every being you have made.

We ask for your courage to live as children of light, hope and love, putting away all darkness, fear and hatred.

Take from us all longing for vengeance, and fill us with compassion for victims of violence throughout the world.

Give us a love that is not withheld even from our enemies.

Be with those members of the Edmonton Police Service and the RCMP who work each day on our behalf for our protection. Grant that our leaders may act justly in response to this situation.

As we pray, help us to truly believe not only in Your abiding presence, but also in the power of prayer to move mountains.

Pull us from the grasp of violence and guide our steps in Your way of peace.

We ask this through Christ, our Lord.

Amen.

We offer heartfelt prayers today for those hurt in the senseless attacks that occurred last night in Edmonton.